


A Comprehensive Tour of Fears

by Bloothepirate



Series: Jon's Terrible, Horrible, No-Good, Very Bad Field Trip [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: American author, Field Trip, M/M, Road Trip, Tags will be updated, Teacher Jon au, content warnings for each chapter in notes, ive never been to these places, set around season 3 pre-unknowing, so if anything is incorrect i apologize and also just assume it's that way in the tma universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:13:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25682581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bloothepirate/pseuds/Bloothepirate
Summary: Mr. Sims thought it would be a wonderful idea to take his history class on a 2-week trip over the summer. Unfortunately, he didn’t consider that every entity would take this trip as free real estate to send their avatars to try and kidnap him. How will he manage to keep his class in control while staying out of danger?
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Series: Jon's Terrible, Horrible, No-Good, Very Bad Field Trip [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1903774
Comments: 60
Kudos: 184





	1. The London Eye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Mr. Sims? I think the whole class is here. It’s past time, when are we going to leave?”  
> The students stood in small clumps around the classroom, eyes still dead from having woken up too early in the morning for a teenager to be able to function. The student who had asked, a young girl named Sam, kept her hand raised as she stood nearest to her teacher.  
> Jonathan Sims checked his watch. It was fifteen minutes past the time they were supposed to leave. Why, in the name of all things good, did Martin have to be late?
> 
> \--
> 
> The tour begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think any content warnings apply to chapter one but I will gladly add any if I need to!

“Mr. Sims? I think the whole class is here. It’s past time, when are we going to leave?”

The students stood in small clumps around the classroom, eyes still dead from having woken up too early in the morning for a teenager to be able to function. The student who had asked, a young girl named Sam, kept her hand raised as she stood nearest to her teacher.

Jonathan Sims checked his watch. It was fifteen minutes past the time they were supposed to leave. Why, in the name of all things good, did Martin have to be late?

“We’re still waiting on a chaperone,” Jon answered. “He  _ should  _ be here soon.”

“Who is it?” Another student asked. “Our parents weren’t asked to come.”

How could he explain who Martin was? He hardly knew him outside of the Magnus Institute, and he wasn’t about to give away information about that to the kids. Saying ‘my assistant’ would raise too many questions about what his other job was. He wasn’t quite close enough to describe him as a  _ friend  _ either. 

“It’s… a coworker of mine from my other job.”

“The mysterious institute you won’t tell us about?”

“That’s the one.” Jon technically worked two jobs, as he physically couldn’t quit the Institute, but Elias had allowed him to take up teaching, since (as he put it), ‘you already don’t do anything. Maybe it will help you be a better archivist.’ It paid extra, and he  _ had  _ always been passionate about teaching people. Plus, he was pretty good with teens. At least, Jon thought he was.

The classroom door swung open suddenly, and a rapidly apologizing man with three large bags came in.

“I’m so sorry, I lost my phone and then traffic was a nightmare, I dropped your coffee so I had to go back and get another, I’m so sorry I’m late, but—“

“It’s alright, Mr. Blackwood,” Jon interrupted, taking the Starbucks cup Martin was handing him. “Meet my class. Class, meet your chaperone Mr. Blackwood.”

Martin waved awkwardly at the tired students, who stared back blankly. A few nodded or held up their palm in a half-attempt at a wave back.

“Well, we can be on our way, then.” Jon made his way from his desk across the front of the room, and held the door. “Load up on the bus.”

The class shuffled out and down the hallway, toward the charter bus that awaited them. They were headed off on a two-week trip across the UK as part of Jon’s summer history class, a tour that would take them to castles, battlefields, and other landmarks only nerds would find fascinating. 

After the last of the students had left the room, Jon grabbed his bag and tossed it over his shoulder. He gestured at the door, looking at Martin. “After you.”

“How do you only have one bag?” Martin asked, picking up his own. “There’s no way you could fit all your stuff in there.”

“I assure you, it’s perfectly possible,” Jon said. “How much did you bring, that required three bags to carry it?”

“I- uh- all the essentials!” Martin stammered. “You never know what you’ll need!”

Jon shrugged dismissively, gesturing at the door again. “We should get going. Don’t want to hold up the class any longer.”

“I— yes. Sorry.” Martin walked out, and Jon followed behind. 

As soon as everyone was situated on the bus— bags in storage, students in seats, teacher and chaperone seated in the front— the group departed. The school wasn’t too far from London, their first stop, but Jon had insisted the class meet early in the morning to ensure the maximum amount of time in the city. The class could sleep on the bus, so it wasn’t too bad. 

The students weren’t the only ones sleeping. Jon could hear Martin snoring across the aisle, legs stretched out across the empty seat next to him. Knowing how he’d been when he had slept in the archives, Jon was not excited to have to wake him once the bus arrived.

After sitting in silence for a while, Jon decided to entertain himself by rifling through his messenger bag, which contained the items he liked to keep close to him. Keys, wallet, books, statements— you know, the essentials. He was sure he’d packed enough to hold him through the trip, but it didn’t hurt to double check. The difficult part would be finding time to actually  _ do  _ them in relative privacy. The students already knew something was strange about him, and he didn’t want to worry them with eldritch monologues. 

Jon soon found out that, luckily, he didn’t have to worry about waking Martin. As soon as the sun came up, it shone through the windows right into everyone’s eyes, Martin included.

“Jesus Christ, that’s bright,” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes and sitting up. He blinked a few times, and looked over at Jon. “Are we almost there?”

Jon glanced at his watch, and then the map in his hands. “I think so. We should arrive soon.”

“You know,” said Martin, fully awake now, “I don’t see the point in me getting up early to drive to your school from London, only to ride a bus back there.”

“It’s just protocol, Martin.”

“I know,” Martin said, crossing his arms. “Dumb protocol.”

They sat in silence for a while as the sun slowly climbed in the sky.

Finally, the bus arrived. Due to certain arrangements, Jon had secured them a free parking spot by one particular Institute for the day.

Glancing across the aisle, he could see Martin watch the building anxiously.

“You did get the day off, right?” Jon asked.

“Yes, I asked Elias and he let me come. He said it was fine.”

“Good,” Jon said. That didn’t explain why Martin was nervous. Was he just anxious being near the place?

Turns out, Jon didn’t have to ask. “Are you sure it’s the best idea to bring your class full of kids to this place?” Martin said at once.

“We’re not going in—“ Jon started.

“Still, being this close, doesn’t it make you feel… weird? Like, the temple to a fear god and archive of all things horror isn’t the best place to bring your school kids?”

“I’m sure it’s fine.”

As the class began to stand and gather their bags, one of the students from the back spoke up. “Magnus Institute?” he asked. “Is that where you work, Mr. Sims?”

“Uh—“ Jon started, not sure how to answer. His students liked to make outlandish claims about what his other job could be as a joke, and he usually dismissed them with a vague joke back. With this, he had to be careful. He didn't want his students associating him with the place. It had a bad enough rep, and knowing that much about him could prompt curious students to find out more than he’d like. “Where I work is none of your business.”

“That’s a yes,” some students muttered to each other. 

“We should get going,” said Jon quickly. “Come on, class.” He grabbed his bag, leaving the bus and waiting outside for the class to join him. Soon enough, they’d gathered around their teacher. “Our first stop is the Tower. Let’s get a move on.” He started walking, class trailing behind.

Not long into their walk out of the parking lot, one of the students spoke up. “Can we see the Magnus Institute?” She asked.

Jon glanced at Martin, who looked worriedly back. “That’s not on the plan,” said Jon.

“I would like to see it,” said another student, and the rest of the class voiced various statements of agreement.

“Please?” Asked the first student. “It will be quick.”

Jon was about to shut down the discussion just as they were passing the entrance, but of course, who else would step out the doors but Elias Bouchard, his boss.

“Ah, a class!” He exclaimed. “How exciting.”

“We’re not here for—“ Jon started, but Elias was quick to cut him off.

“Wouldn’t want to disappoint the students, would you, teacher? Let’s say we give them a quick tour.” He gestured with both arms toward the doors, lowering into a vague semi-bow.

“This is a  _ bad  _ idea,” said Martin, voicing Jon’s exact thoughts. However, disobeying Elias was an even worse one, so he reluctantly led the excited students up the steps. As he passed his boss, who held the door open, he shot a sharp look of warning. Elias just smiled smugly.

Whatever he was planning, it was not good.

—

“And here, class, are the archives. Unfortunately, our Archivist... isn’t in today. The assistants are busy investigating statements, so let’s not bother them.”

Jon tapped his foot, arms folded tightly. He wished he could usher the class out as soon as possible, but Elias was taking great pleasure in giving them a full tour of the Institute. No doubt the Eye was feasting on the new blood in its building. The students didn’t seem scared, though. They were fascinated by the place. That worried Jon even more than if they had been creeped out.

“Let’s head to Artifact Storage next,” said Elias, already turning around to move on.

“Excuse me, sorry,” Jon said sternly, “but we  _ do  _ have a schedule, and we’ve spent enough time straying from it. We need to wrap this up.” There was no way he was letting his students into Artifact Storage. Knowing the place, he would make it out with fewer students than he’d entered with.

“If you must,” Elias sighed, placing his hands on his hips. “Can’t keep a teacher from his schedule. I’ll show you out, then.”

A few students protested, but soon enough, they had left the building and gathered outside for a head count. Martin, who had kept up the back of the group through the tour, was saying something to Elias as Jon counted his students. He soon joined the group, and they promptly departed.

As the class walked the streets of London, Jon went over his plan for the day in his head. They would see the Tower of London and the Tower Bridge, have some lunch, and see the HMS Belfast, Houses of Parliament, and Westminster Abbey. Their detour at the Institute meant they would have less time than Jon would like to see the Tower, but he could adjust his plan easily enough.

“What was that deal with Elias?” Martin asked, interrupting Jon’s thoughts.

“No idea,” Jon replied. “What was he saying to you?”

“I asked him why he had the class come in.”

“...And?” asked Jon. “What did he say?”

“I don’t know, he was being really vague. He was all, ‘this was what they wanted, shouldn’t prevent their curiosity.’ It kind of worries me.”

Jon nodded. “Yeah. There was definitely something up with that.”

After a while of walking in silence, morning keeping the city relatively quiet, Martin spoke up again. “We’re on holiday, though, so we shouldn’t worry about it.”

“We shouldn’t,” agreed Jon, “but that doesn’t mean I won’t.”

“True,” Martin said with a chuckle.

“Thank you for agreeing to come, by the way,” Jon said after a pause. “I didn’t really trust any of these students’ parents to be professional enough.”

“Oh, it’s no problem at all!” Martin glanced back at the class, who was chatting amongst themselves. “I’m glad to do it. They’re good kids.”

“Aside from when they try to pry into my personal life.”

“Are they trying to pry?” Martin asked. “Or are they being a normal level of polite and you’re being Jon about it?”

Jon scoffed. “They’re my  _ students _ . They shouldn’t know everything going on with me. Even if it was just normal stuff.”

“I suppose.”

Finally, they arrived at the Tower. The tour guide was waiting for them, and offered a cheerful greeting.

“Let’s hope this goes better than our last tour,” Jon heard Martin mutter to himself. He had to agree.

Fortunately, the tour went well, with nothing creepy popping up to ruin the day. Jon managed to only interject five times, interrupting the tour guide with additional facts, some of which he had actually learned before but most dropped into his head by the Eye. At least it was being useful. They toured the Tower Bridge next, and before long, it was time to eat.

After seating the class at a nearby cafe, Jon approached Martin. “Could you… watch them for a bit?”

“Why?” Martin asked. “Do you have to go to the bathroom or something?”

“Uh… no.” Jon lifted a sheet of paper slightly out of his bag, so Martin could see only the corner. His message was clear.

“Really? You have to do one?”

“Did you think it would just… go away? It does not.” Jon shoved the statement back into the bag. “Can you watch the class? Please? It’ll be quick.”

Martin sighed. “I suppose.” he chuckled. “I guess it  _ is  _ lunchtime.”

“Yeah, you know,” Jon said, in the way that was the closest he had to laughing, “hungry. I’ll be back.”

Martin nodded, and Jon headed off to find a secluded place. What would the class think if they noticed him wandering off like this throughout the trip? The students were observant and curious enough; they were bound to notice. Maybe they would assume he was taking a smoke break? He hadn’t actually smoked in years, but it was a good cover. Or maybe he could just say he was going to the bathroom, like Martin had assumed.

Jon found a quiet corner he Knew would have nobody walk by in the next fifteen minutes, or however long the statement would take him. He began to read, tape recorder running in his bag. It was a pretty standard Dark statement, a similar story to ones he’d heard before. Once he was finished, he came back to the cafe he’d left his class at, to eat actual food.

To Jon’s surprise, Martin was chatting with some students, getting along as if he was one of them. When he saw Jon was back, he quickly excused himself and headed over.

“You were chatting with them?” Jon asked, careful to keep his voice down despite its tone. “You’re their chaperone, not their friend! It’s got to stay professional!”

“I know, I know, sorry,” Martin said, “but these kids are really funny. They told me all about this app, TikTok, and it sounded really interesting, maybe I’ll…” he trailed off, assumedly noticing the look on Jon’s face. “Anyways, how was it? The statement.”

“It was fine,” Jon shrugged. “Like normal. I need a sandwich, though.” He started to head toward the line to order.

“No, wait!” Martin said. Jon paused and turned around. “I actually got you one. Figured you’d be hungry. Afterwards.” Martin held out a wrapped ham & cheese.

Jon took it. “Ah. Thank you. Martin.” He glanced back at his class once, making sure they were still behaving themselves, before sitting down and actually eating.

When lunch was over, it was time to finish the tours. The day in London passed more or less uneventfully, aside from the  _ fascinating  _ facts they learned about the history of London. It was a bit nerve wracking bringing the class back by the Institute to load into the bus, but luckily there were no surprise visits by any eldritch bosses. The group arrived at their hotel, and the class got situated in their rooms without too much hassle. A good thing about kids nerdy enough to take a summer history class is that they were usually nerdy enough to be well-behaved on class trips. After the students were sorted out, Jon and Martin went to find the room reserved for the Adults of the trip.

In a subversion of tropes everywhere, the hotel room had the normal number of beds, which was to say, two, both perfectly functional (albeit small). Jon, exhausted from the day, collapsed in the one nearest the window and promptly fell asleep, still in his clothes and not even under the covers. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's chapter one! I intend to post the second one soon. In the meantime, let me know what you think! What will happen next? Why is Elias the way he is? Who knows...


	2. Werewolves of London

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 2 of the tour; second day in London.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \--  
> Content warnings:  
> Swearing  
> Bullying  
> queerphobia/transphobia toward a student  
> Being chased  
> dissociation(maybe? Not sure if it counts but i'm not gonna risk it lol)  
> \--
> 
> Yes every chapter title will be either a pun or song title. Sometimes both. Also this fic is why my parents probably think i'm planning a trip to the UK lol. Living my travel dreams vicariously through fanfic while amidst a pandemic.

Sunday morning, Jon had decided to be kind to his students. He had postponed their departure time an hour, allowing them likely much-needed extra sleep. He had no clue how the trip through the institute could have affected them the prior day, and reasoned that they had probably stayed up past lights-out anyways. His decision had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that he’d forgotten to set an alarm and overslept, of course. At 9:00 on the dot, the bus had arrived at the day’s first location, and the class had met up with their short-notice tour guide.

The Globe Theater stood in front of the group, a circular white building with dark brown trimming and a thatched partial-roof. It wasn’t the original Globe Theater, the one built by Shakespeare in the 16th century, but it was a close approximation, having been hand-built by the same methods with the same materials as the original. That fact, among others, was included in the tour guide’s speech to the class. The guide had then led the group inside, and seated them to discuss more history and fun facts peppered with family-friendly jokes.

The inside was round, with seating going all the way around, even behind the stage, which took up a portion of the center area. The rest of the center was a flat floor, where the guide said a large portion of the crowd would stand to watch the play.

Jon thought it was fascinating. There was so much intention in every part of the building, as when the original had been built there’d needed to be a meaning to each bit, which would take precious time to build. You just didn’t see that much symbolism or purpose in modern buildings.

Weird. Jon had never been that into architecture before.

The group was led away from the seats and around to another part of the building. In his peripheral vision, Jon could see Martin glance around the theatre.

“What do you think?” he asked, trying to make conversation. Martin hadn’t said a word since they arrived, which was strange.

“I’m not the biggest fan of… theater,” Martin said. “In general. I haven’t been in one… hmm, probably ever, thinking about it.”

“Huh.”

The pause was allowed to grow until awkward, when Martin spoke up again. “I mean, I do like Shakespeare. I like his writing, and his prose, and all of that. I’ve just never really got the hype around theater.” 

“I see.” Jon soon remembered why he didn’t often strike up a conversation. He was so laughably bad at small talk. Why had he decided to try this time? The time frame to offer a line which would keep the conversation going had now passed, and Jon had nothing.

Luckily, another monologue from the tour guide saved him from the continuing awkward silence, and once he was done, the group was allowed to explore the theatre’s small museum themselves. Jon decided to keep an eye on his students, even if he really wanted to check out some of the information plaques. 

He realized he made the right choice when his attention was drawn to commotion by the Elizabethan clothing display. As he made his way over, the loud conversation became clear.

“What is fucking  _ wrong  _ with you?”

“Me? What’s wrong with  _ you _ , you fucking weirdo? Are you a boygirl or a girlboy? Or an  _ it _ ?” The antagonizing teen sneered at his victim, one of Jon’s students.

“Excuse me,” Jon said with the most aggressive throat clear he thought he’d ever done, taking purposeful steps toward him. “What is going on over here?”

“Who are you?” the teen scoffed, casting a quick glance over Jon, who felt suddenly self-conscious from the kid’s judgmental gaze.

Jon folded his arms. “That’s my student you’re harassing. I must ask you to leave them alone, or I will have to get security involved,” he threatened, tone so taut you could tightrope across it.

The teen raised his eyebrows. “Oh yeah? You think you’re scary, Mr. teacher? What are you going to do, make me learn things?”

Jon grimaced. “I could,” he muttered nearly inaudibly, mind flashing with what he had the power to do. He could make this bully  _ know  _ so much horror. He could show him exactly what it felt like to be on the receiving end of the torment he was inflicting. He could make him learn things that would put him in therapy for life. He just barely resisted the temptation to do just so, forcing himself to cling to reality. He had to deal with this in the normal way.

“I’m serious. I  _ will  _ get you kicked out of the theatre for harassment if this continues.  _ Got it _ ?” he added severely.

The kid shrank back. He shook his head sharply and turned away, grumbling something about ‘snowflakes.’

Jon turned back to his student, placing a hand on their shoulder. “Blue, are you alright?” 

Blue nodded. “Uh, yeah. Thanks, Mr. Sims.”

Jon smiled. “Of course. I can’t stand it to see anyone treated that way.”

Blue grinned back, then left to find their friends, giving Jon a final small wave.

When Jon turned back around, he was surprised to see Martin standing right there.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you that intimidating  _ or  _ confrontational, Jon!” Martin gestured widely. “I kind of can’t believe that was even you!”

Jon sighed. “It almost wasn’t”

Martin’s eyebrows knit. “Jon… what do you mean?”

“Never mind.” Jon shook his head, wanting to push the moment out of his mind and never think of it again.

“We’ve talked about this!” Martin hissed, quieting his voice but keeping the tone intense. “You can’t just do this… creepy stuff! What does that mean?”

“Forget it,” Jon said, messing with papers in his bag. “I’ve got to go for a minute.” Upon seeing Martin’s raised eyebrow, he added, “Alright, fine. I’ll... tell you later.”

Martin just shrugged, giving a gesture that seemed to indicate Jon could go.

\--

Once Jon’s statement was done and he’d made his way back to his class in the theatre, it was time for them to head to their next destination. The walk to the cafe was short, and the lunch there was surprisingly succinct as well. Around 1, the group had headed off for their last attraction in London: the HMS Belfast. The hike was a bit longer, about 15 minutes, but a scenic walk through Southwark hadn’t hurt anyone.

A few minutes in, though, Jon felt something off. There was a strange presence, a new tension in the air, a slight buzz of nerves. He tried to shrug it off, dismiss it as just his own anxiety surfacing out of nowhere, but it persisted. It got stronger. The feeling grew and changed as the walk went on, until Jon realized with a start what it was.

They were being followed.

Jon wished with everything in him that he was wrong, but he knew he couldn’t be. The feeling was too strong and too distinct. Not only were they being followed, they were being followed by the One Who Follows, the One Who Stalks. The One Who Hunts.

Jon’s breath picked up. He could hear his own footsteps, his own heartbeat, his own breath growing ragged. Why were they here? What did they want? How could he keep his class safe? He glanced back for a second, and was met with temporary relief when he saw all the students chatting happily, completely relaxed. Martin was holding up the rear of the group, and met Jon’s eyes with quick worry. Apparently he took Jon’s demeanor as a request to come up to the front of the group with him.

“What’s wrong?” he asked in a whisper.

“I have to go do something,” Jon said, trying to steady his breath.

“What? I thought you already did one? You can’t possibly need to do another!”

Jon shook his head. “No. Something… different.”

“Jon….” Martin trailed off, seemingly wanting to say more but stopping himself. He sighed. “Will it be quick?”

“I hope so.”

“Fine.”

Jon turned to face his class, stopping them on the sidewalk. “I have to go take care of something,” he announced. “Just keep following Mr. Blackwood. I’ll meet back up with you guys soon.”

The students muttered to each other, but no one questioned him outright. Jon gave a curt nod and headed off in the direction they had come from.

He steadied one hand against the strap of his bag, and tightened the other into a fist as he walked faster and faster, each footstep hitting the ground harder. Before he could notice, Jon was running down the pavement. Was he running toward the Hunter still? Or was he running away? He couldn’t tell anymore. He was just running, and he couldn’t stop. His feet hit the pavement, one after another, buildings and people streaming by his periphery in a blur. He took a random turn, and then another, losing his place in the city and the chase.

_ Stop,  _ he thought, but his brain wasn’t connecting to his legs.  _ Stop, stop, stop running.  _ It was one thing to think it, but another entirely to actually do it. He looked behind himself wildly, whipping his head around and back and side to side. Something was following him, right? There had to be a reason he was running. He had started running, and he wasn’t stopping, so he had to be chased. Was he? Or was he doing the chasing? Jon couldn’t remember. The only thing he knew was rhythm: his breath, his heart, and his feet, all beating to their own tempo.

Jon was glancing back again when his body suddenly and painfully stopped moving. He hit the ground with a  _ thud _ , and looked back to the front to see what had happened.

Jon had run into a wall.

He should have been grateful. Without that wall, he could have been running for far longer than he would like. He could have gotten caught up in the chase forever. It was hard to appreciate that, though, when you’re sprawled out on the pavement, alone, head pounding, and footsteps are steadily coming toward you.

Jon pushed himself up, and faced the Hunter. It was someone he hadn’t seen before, a crew cut man with a dark jacket. 

“What do you want?” Jon said, voice low and without inflection.

The man grinned. “I caught you.”

“You haven’t caught me yet.” Jon picked his bag up off the ground, adjusting it on his shoulder. “Just tell me what you want.”

The man gave a short laugh, producing something from an inner jacket pocket. A police badge. “Officer Segura. You have to come with me.”

“What for?” Jon asked. “I haven’t done anything illegal.”

“You ran away,” the man shrugged.

“That’s not a reason,” Jon said, still out of breath. “I didn’t know you were police. This isn’t normal.”

Officer Segura’s grin grew. “ _ You’re  _ not normal, are you? Sectioned officers can recognize that kind of thing.” He took a step forward. “Archivist.”

“Who sent you?”

“I sent myself.”

Jon shook his head. “No, you didn’t. Something sent you. A higher up, maybe, or just some hunch. Or The Hunt. Don’t give in to it.”

“Why not?” The officer was nearly laughing now. “It’s so enjoyable! And it helps me be a better cop.”

“A more brutal cop is not a better cop,” Jon said, scoffing. “You’re worse than Daisy.”

Officer Segura’s eyes widened, and his demeanor changed. “You know Daisy?”

Jon smiled. “I do know Daisy. Even more,  _ she _ knows  _ me _ . She  _ likes  _ me, can the same be said for you?” The officer was starting to retreat now, slowly inching backward. Jon crossed his arms. “Don’t make me tell her about you, Officer Segura.”

The cop shook his head. “I’ll be on my way,” he said in a wavering voice, turning to walk briskly off, head down.

Jon brushed himself off. Thankfully he didn’t have to threaten his own power, something he desperately wanted to avoid using. Daisy had seemed to do the trick. He was grateful for her friendship, and even more grateful for her terrifying reputation.

After figuring out where he was, Jon headed off toward the warship he was  _ supposed  _ to be at.

He caught up with the group, who was in the middle of a tour.

“There you are,” Martin whispered, as to not interrupt the talking guide. “Where have you been?”

“I’ll tell you about it later,” Jon said. Before Martin could scoff a reply, he added, “I don’t want to interrupt the tour.”

Martin shook his head. “Whatever. But I need to know right when this is over.”

Jon nodded. “Sure. Deal.”

\--

“Jon.”

“What?”

“We’ve just been sitting in this hotel room for an hour. I thought you were going to tell me what happened?”

Jon sat up on his bed. After the HMS Belfast tour, the group had packed their bags, loaded the bus, and departed for Oxford, their next destination. The remainder of the evening was free time, to be spent relaxing in the hotel and eating the pizza they had ordered. Jon had been putting off this conversation, but it seems he had evaded it enough.

Jon sighed. “Where do you want me to start?”

“The Globe museum. What you said there, what did it mean?”

“What did I say?” Jon could have remembered if he put effort into it, but he was too tired for that.

“I said something like, ‘that wasn’t like you,’ and you said ‘It almost wasn’t.’ What does that mean?” Martin was sitting on his own bed, arms crossed, facing Jon. 

Jon stared stubbornly at the wall in front of him. “The kid. I felt this… call to do… something.” After an unsatisfied pause, Jon continued. “It was like… the eye wanted me to do what Elias does and make people Know things. It wanted me to show that bullying teen the pain of how it feels to be bullied.”

Martin drew in a sharp breath. There was an uncomfortably tense pause. “...You didn’t though…” he said, “right?”

“Yeah,” Jon said with an exhale. “I didn’t. It’s not like I  _ wanted to _ ,” he said. In a mutter, he added, “I think.”

“Okay,” Martin said. “Moving on, what was that all about on the walk? What did you need to go do?”

“You don’t really want to know.”

“Yes, I do,” Martin insisted. “I asked.”

“Fine.” Jon shrugged. “We were being followed by someone, and I took care of it.”

Martin sat in silence.

“You took care of it?” he asked finally. “What does that mean?”

“It was a Hunter. Like Daisy.”

“Did you… did you  _ kill  _ them?” Martin asked in quiet horror.

“No!” Jon said quickly. “No, I didn’t kill him, Martin, Christ. I just threatened him, and he went away.”

Martin remained silent for a while, probably trying to get Jon elaborate. It wasn’t going to work. Jon was done talking. 

Jon laid back down, turning sharply toward the wall opposite Martin’s bed, and fell asleep without another word. He didn’t care that it was only 7. He was tired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish I could end each chapter in a more compelling way but when I’ve structured it the way I have (1 day = 1 chapter) you end on Jon falling asleep usually so. Sorry lol. Also, the only reason I did the hunt this chapter is because the song name popped into my head and I had to use it.


	3. A Mask of My Own Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 3 of the tour; day 1 in Oxford. Jon experiences some deja vu.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \---  
> Content Warnings:  
> Kidnapping  
> Minor Stranger-typical body horror  
> It’s just not the greatest day for Jon  
> But when is?  
> \--
> 
> Lemon Demon songs are of course going to be popular chapter titles. It’s my fic and I get to choose the Lemon Demon references. Plus they fit well

It was like he was back at school.

Being in Oxford brought back a rush of memories with every turn. A building was not just a building; it was every day Jon had walked past it on the way to class, every meal he’d had inside it. The roads felt familiar on his feet. Jon wanted to wander the city, get lost in its alleys and in his recollections. Unfortunately, he had a class to lead, and a tour of the colleges to give.

“Here’s the main quad for Queen’s College, the college I attended,” Jon announced as the group passed the entrance to the grassy patch. He could recall almost every instance he had hung out there with Georgie and his other friends, how the sunset turned the tan bricks gold in the evening, how the morning dew felt on its grass. Jon had to push the memories from his mind. This wasn’t meant to be a reminiscent tour for an alum; it was a historical tour for his students.

Jon continued leading the class down High Street, commenting on places he’d been or buildings he found interesting. He could have continued the tour without stopping, but paused at the Bodleian Library to let the students (and Martin) rest.

As the class spread throughout the courtyard, Jon explored as well, walking along its perimeter and recalling the times he’d gone down that trail before.

In front of him, Jon saw a person approaching. It was a woman, with dark, curly hair and a long coat. She grinned at him in greeting.

“Jon! How wonderful to see you again!”

Jon did not recognize her.

“Uh, yes,” he said, pausing as a prompt for her name.

“Anna! Anna Cone.” She continued to grin, eyes not changing expression. In fact, it seemed like they weren’t even expressing at all. “We had a lot of classes together? I saw your band.”

Jon did remember an Anna, whom he’d sat next to during lectures.

This was not her.

“What do you want?” Jon asked, voice slipping quickly into annoyance.

“I-- what do you mean?” The not-Anna asked, still feigning innocence. “Just saying hello to an old acquaintance! You  _ have  _ gotten moodier.”

“You’re not Anna,” Jon said. “You took her. What are you doing here?”

Not-Anna’s face fell in the blink of an eye. “I think you should come with me,” she said.

“And why would I do that?”

Not-Anna’s eyes focused on something behind Jon, and he turned to see what it was. Martin was approaching.

“Who are you talking to?” he asked, cheerful as ever.

“I’m Jon’s friend from school!” Not-Anna said, plastering on a smile too quickly. “I’ve asked him to come see something with me. Reminisce and all that.”

“You should go!” Martin said, apparently not sensing anything off. “I’ll watch the class for you.”

“Martin--” Jon protested.

“You need to reconnect with people,” Martin persisted. “Be social. Have a network.”

“She’s not--”

Not-Anna grabbed Jon by the wrist, fingers cold and bony. Jon shuddered as she began to pull him away with a steady strength. Martin just waved and smiled, still under the impression that Anna was just an old friend.

How infuriating that smile was.

Not-Anna dragged Jon to a small, unoccupied room. After she shut the door, the last thing Jon saw was her foot arching with incredible speed toward his head. His last thought was  _ this is not good _ , before his vision went black.

\--

When Jon woke up, he was bound in a corner, cloth tied around his mouth as a gag. It seemed deja vu was the theme of the day, and he couldn’t help but remember the last time he’d been in this exact position, kidnapped by the same entity.

Not-Anna was pacing in front of him, and stopped in delight when she noticed he was awake. “How wonderful!” she exclaimed. “You’re in for a surprise, Archivist. Watch this.”

She reached behind her head, working her fingers at the base of her neck as if unclasping a necklace. Instead of jewelry, she was undoing something much more horrid. Not-Anna pulled back the face as if it were a mask, revealing at once what was underneath: the white, expressionless face of a mannequin.

“That’s right! It’s Nikola! What a surprise!”

Jon tried to speak, but only muffled grunts came out. Nikola laughed.

“Yes, this is an awfully familiar scene. I wonder where I’ve seen it before? Oh, right, I remember now!” She dropped the limp head-skin on the ground, and it crumpled with a muffled noise. “You never did give me your skin. I trust you’ve been moisturizing like I told you, though, right?”

Mumbling in annoyance, Jon shook his head.

Nikola made a noise that could have been a tongue clicking, if she’d had a tongue. “What am I going to do with you? Oh, right! Take your skin, of course!” She bent down, examining Jon’s face. “It’s not ideal, but I’ll take what I can get. Archivist skin has got to be good for something, hasn’t it?” She poked his cheek with her sharp, lifeless finger. “And nothing is going to stop us today.”

Jon tried to speak once again, but what he was trying to say he didn’t know. Something, anything to change the situation. Maybe he could have distracted Nikola, or changed her mind, or called for help. However, he was unable to do anything in the slightest.

Nikola laughed. “Not so powerful without your voice? I think you’ll find it difficult to inflict voyeur-related terror on someone without eyes! Or a brain at all!”

Jon grumbled.

“Your voice, though... I kind of  _ do  _ like it,” said Nikola, dragging her finger down to his throat. “Maybe I’ll steal that too. You don’t mind, do you?” She laughed. “Who am I kidding? Of course you mind!”

Jon tried to move, lash out in an attempt to get away or knock her off. He only succeeded in wriggling around like a worm. It must have been extremely amusing.

Nikola sighed, taking a step back. “I have to go get my tools. Silly me, leaving them lying around.” She picked up the mask of Anna’s face, positioning it over her head and clasping the back. She made final adjustments as she headed for the door. “Don’t go anywhere!” she laughed.

The door shut, and Jon was alone again.

He couldn’t help it as his mind turned immediately to his class. How long had he been knocked out? Were they worried? Had they continued the tour without him? How was Martin holding up?

When the door opened again, after who-knows-how-long, Nikola was not there. Instead, it was a man, someone Jon didn’t recognize at first glance. His expression quickly changed to shock upon seeing Jon tied up in a corner.

“Jesus Christ, are you okay?” he asked, voice a panic. The man ran over to Jon and kneeled down, pulling out the cloth gag.

“Thank you,” Jon managed.

The man then untied the rest of the ropes, and helped Jon stand. “What’s going on?” he asked. “Do I need to call the police?”

“No,” Jon said, brushing himself off. “No, there’s no need. Just a prank gone too far,” he lied.

“Oh,” the man laughed. He paused, considering Jon for a second. His face then lit up. “Wait, are you Jon Sims?”

“That depends, who’s asking?”

The man held out a hand. “Brandon. We went to school together! I was kind of a big fan of your band,” he said sheepishly. “You look different!”

Jon slowly shook his hand. “Ah, I remember.” He wished people would stop bringing up his old band. He’d put The Mechanisms far behind him now, and honestly wouldn’t mind if everyone forgot about them. “Thanks for finding me.”

“No problem. Say, what are you doing back here? I thought you lived in London now.”

“I do,” Jon said. “I’m a teacher. I’m taking my class here to visit. And London’s not that far away.”

“Oh, neat.” Brandon opened the door. “Well, I’ve got to be getting on my way, and I assume you do too. It was nice seeing you, though.”

“Likewise.” Jon left the room, steadying himself and trying to shake off the day’s encounter. His gaze swept around the library courtyard, searching for any clues as to where his class could be. They were no longer here, meaning someone had continued their tour. Jon tried to go over the schedule in his head, and checked his watch to see where he might be able to find them. At some point, the face had cracked, and the hands had stopped working. Great. That watch had been kind of expensive. He still had his phone, though, and a glance at it revealed the time was past 1, meaning if the tour had stayed on schedule the class should be at a boathouse receiving a quick lesson in punting before heading off in small groups down the river. It also showed several unanswered messages from Martin, each growing in concern.

As Jon made his way to catch up, he couldn’t help but worry about the implications of the past few days. First Elias brings the class into the Institute, then a Hunter stalks him, and today, he gets kidnapped by a Stranger avatar. It’s not like Jon was unused to being bothered by the entities; he had plenty of scars to show for his prior encounters. But this was worse. This put his students at risk. As a teacher, his primary responsibility was ensuring his kids’ safety, even more so on a class trip. Nobody should be subject to encounters with an Entity, but especially not children, and especially not the children  _ he  _ was responsible for. Jon hoped desperately that today was the last day a complication would arise.

He was relieved to find his students at the boathouse, attentively watching the worker demonstrate how to punt a boat down the river. He could tell the exact moment Martin saw him, as relief took over his entire body. He rushed over to Jon.

“Oh my God, where have you been?” Martin switched rapidly between fidgeting with his bag straps and shaking his hands. “I was so worried. We were so worried. You’ve been gone for hours!”

Jon thought about telling Martin how his encouragement to go along with who he thought was Anna had contributed directly to Jon’s absence. He almost did, but finally decided against it seeing Martin’s distressed expression. The guy had a lot going for him already, Jon didn’t want to make it worse.

“That was not Anna,” he said simply.

Martin’s eyes widened. “Oh… OH.” 

“I’m okay now, though,” Jon sighed. “I don’t really want to talk about--”

“Oh, absolutely,” Martin said in a rush. “I’m not pushing you to, you can tell me later.” He paused. “Or not at all.”

Jon nodded, and turned to the boats the class were now getting into. One by one, the small groups departed, headed off for a restaurant or spot to eat their lunch if they’d packed one. The class took up nearly all the boats, but there was one left.

The boathouse employee gestured to it. “You can take that one,” he said.

“Oh, we didn’t pay for ourselves,” Jon said, “just the students.”

The employee shrugged. “It’s on the house.”

“Well, in that case…” Martin trailed off.

“I’m not sure,” Jon said. He hadn’t been punting in a long time. “I don’t really….”

“Come on!” Martin said. “You need to have a little fun. Wind down. It won’t hurt anything!”

Jon sighed. Martin looked so eager to go, and he knew it would disappoint him if Jon refused. “Fine.”

The two climbed into the boat, and Martin was handed the pole, and, standing up, pushed off against the river bottom to move the boat forward. He continued to do so, propelling them down the river, as Jon sat in silence, watching the water pass by around the flat-bottomed boat.

After a while, Martin sat down. He held out the pole towards Jon. “Want to give it a try?”

“Uh…” Jon pulled his hands back. “I’m not really… great at it.”

Martin shook his head, smiling slightly. “I’m not either, but it’s not that hard. Go on, give it a try!”

Jon took the pole reluctantly, and stood up, trying to balance himself as the boat wobbled under his feet. He lowered the pole slowly into the water, until he felt it make contact with the ground. He glanced over at Martin, who gave him an encouraging nod.

Jon pushed, and the boat creeped forward. He tried again, but this time, the pole pushed the boat in the wrong direction, and they began to spin slowly. Jon tried one more time, but it wasn’t getting any better. No matter what he tried, Jon couldn’t make the boat glide smoothly down the river like it was supposed to. He clenched his jaw and kept trying. He had to get it. 

After another try proved in vain, Jon sat down in a huff, folding his arms tightly. Martin laughed, and Jon gave him a glare which silenced him rather quickly.

“It’s okay, Jon,” Martin said, voice taking on unexpected softness. “I’ll take the pole.”

“I can’t do it,” Jon just muttered. This is why he didn’t want to go punting. He knew this would happen, he knew he would have to try and he would prove to be bad because he’d  _ never  _ been good at it, and he would embarrass himself. “I should be able to do it.”

“Don’t worry. You don’t have to be perfect at everything. Especially if it’s your first try--”

“It’s not my first try, though!” Jon hadn’t meant for his voice to come out so loud, but Martin had flinched back. “I used to go all the time when I lived here, and I was never good at it, even though everyone else was, and I just never got better! I’ve practiced, and I’ve tried, so why am I not good at it?”

Martin reached for the pole, and Jon let him take it. He stood and started the boat moving again. “You can’t expect to be good at everything you do,” he said, looking out to the horizon. “Some things are just not for you, and that’s okay.”

Jon skimmed his hand over the passing water.

“You’re good at so many other things,” Martin continued. “You’re probably the smartest person I know, and you’re good at investigating. You’re really good at analyzing things. You’re a history teacher, too! You’ve got so much going for you. Who cares if you can’t push a stupid boat?”

“I suppose,” Jon said quietly. He looked up, and Martin was looking back at him. Martin gave a quick cough and turned his head back forward.

They continued down the river for some time, sparse conversation peppering the mostly-silent journey, until they had made their way to a pub. It occurred to Jon that he hadn’t had lunch, of either the human or supernatural variety. He was very hungry.

In the pub, Jon ate a hearty beef stew while Martin enjoyed a more modest fish and chips. Jon could see some of his students, seated in small groups around the pub, enjoying meals of their own. He suddenly felt very self-conscious about the idea of going to do a statement right then, even though he really felt he had to. The students were bound to notice him leaving for a long time, then coming back like nothing had happened. They were probably already suspicious of him as it was.

“I think we should get going,” Jon said. They had both finished their meals, but had been relaxing at the table for a bit. Jon’s statement seemed to have taken Martin by surprise.

“Really? Don’t you have to….”

“Yeah,” Jon said, starting to wring his hands under the table. “I was thinking I could do it on the boat?”

“On the boat?”  
“I mean, there’s no one else near enough to notice something’s up, and if they heard me talking they would just assume I was speaking to you, right?”

“You’re forgetting one key element,” Martin said, deadpan. “Me. I don’t feel particularly inclined to listen to you monologue. Especially about horror.”

Jon thought for a minute. “How about I let you pick the statement?”

Martin laughed. “Ah. The illusion of choice. What will it be, spooky horror 1 or terrifying story 2? Hmmm, you know, I’ll have to go with the one about spiders!” His voice dripped so thickly with sarcasm Jon felt he could cut it.

“Or I could just do a random one. And you know when I start, you can’t stop me.”

Martin sighed. “Fine. Do it on the boat, then.”

“ _ Thank _ you.” 

As soon as the bill was paid, they got on the boat once again, heading back to the boathouse they’d come from. Jon picked the statement he’d thought would be the least scary, out of respect for Martin, but there wasn’t much leeway when they’re all designed to feed a fear god. As he read, he couldn’t pay attention to anything else happening in the moment, but he watched Martin’s demeanor after he was done for any sign of if the statement had affected him.

“Martin?” Jon asked after he couldn't determine anything.

Martin didn’t answer.

Oh no. Did Jon’s statement make him upset? Did he accidentally read one that had impacted Martin in the past? 

“Martin,” he said louder. At this point, Martin looked back.

Jon let out a sigh of relief. He was only wearing earbuds. “What?” Martin asked, pulling one out. Jon could faintly hear music emanating from it.

Jon shook his head. “Nothing. Never mind. I’m done now, that’s all.”

“Oh, good.”

\--

The group had met back up at the boathouse, and when all the students were accounted for, they had departed for the hotel. It was another free night, which Jon spent waiting in the lobby to make sure students weren’t causing any trouble. Martin had stayed in the hallway to make sure they were all quiet there. Jon’s encounter with Nikola earlier in the day still played in his mind, and as he watched out for any misbehavior in his class, he also kept an eye out for anything out of the ordinary. He didn’t see anything, and hoped that he wouldn’t for the rest of the trip. Somehow, though, in the deepest part of himself, he knew that wouldn’t be the case. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nikola is intent on getting Jon’s skin for her dance party, but it’s failed twice for her now so RIP. Also I have no clue if the casual Mechs-college-band will be brought up again since I’ve established it, but it’s here now. Imagine being a student whose teacher is not only an avatar of a fear god but was also an immortal space pirate in college. Wish that were me. Also I should have posted this chapter a week ago when I was actually at a college but it wasn't meant to be
> 
> In an unrelated note, did yall know I thought of the title for the fic only like an hour before putting chapter 1 up? My google doc is just called ‘Teacher Jon field trip’ and I haven’t changed it since I started writing it.


	4. Marketland

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day four of the tour; day two in Oxford. The class goes to a village and explores a market.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \--  
> Content warnings:
> 
> Corruption-level grossness  
> Manipulation (mentioned)  
> \--
> 
> Alternate chapter title: I suddenly remember how much I love semicolons.

“Now this is where I’d ideally like to live.”

Martin’s dreamy declaration was agreeable. The little village of Cotswold was perfectly picturesque, with vibrant grass, colorful wildflowers, and quaint cottages sprinkled throughout. With the bright sky hosting tiny puffy clouds, it was almost as if they were in a daydream. Jon had made the right decision bringing the class to the village this second day in Oxford. They could enjoy the quiet of the countryside before they moved on to the bustling marketplace that afternoon.

The group meandered down the path, chatting away. There were no tour guides or historical facts here (though Jon could conjure some if he wanted), just the fresh morning air and birdsong.

One specific bird was twittering louder than any other. It cut in front of the group, a tan thing with a red head, flying just at eye level.

“That’s a goldfinch,” Jon remarked, almost automatically.

“Really?” Martin asked. “How could you tell? It flew so quickly.”

Jon shrugged. “I guess they’re easy to identify?”

“I didn’t know you were a bird guy, Mr. Sims,” said a student behind them. Jon turned; a girl named Jess had spoken.

“I’m not, really,” Jon answered. “I’m actually not sure how I knew that was a goldfinch. Probably saw a documentary once or something.”

“Right, a documentary,” Martin said, holding back a chuckle.

Jon shot a quick warning glance, but Martin’s smile barely faded.

“What’s that bird?” Another student, Dave, pointed at a round yellow-and-blue bird perched in a tree.

“That’s a Great Tit,” Jon answered involuntarily. The class burst into laughter. He turned to Martin. “You, too?” The chaperone was failing at holding in his own giggles.

“And what’s that one,” a third student said between bouts of laughter, “with the long tail?”

“A long tailed—“ Jon cut himself off. He tried to clamp his mouth shut, but the fact pressed against his skull, creating a greater and greater pressure, like water was filling his head. “A long tailed—“ he couldn’t stop himself. To Know was to Know, and his purpose was to make others Know as well. Even if the Knowledge was just the name of a bird. Jon sighed. “Long tailed Tit.”

The class was consumed with laughter once again.

“Why do you all do this to me?”

  


—

  


As they continued their walk through the village, a small group of students burst into laughter at once. It was the close-knit group of four friends: Sam, Jess, Blue, and Dave, who had all apparently found something hilarious simultaneously.

“What’s so funny?” Jon asked. The four suddenly and mysteriously went silent. Jon looked back; they all avoided eye contact. “Don’t tell me, then,” Jon muttered, shrugging.

“It’s nothing,” Sam spoke up, “just a little inside joke.”

Blue whispered to the others, and the four began laughing once again.

“Do you four have telepathy or something?” Jon asked. “You started laughing out of nowhere.”

“It’s, uh…” Dave started. “Uh, nothing.”

“You’re being awfully suspicious.”

“Jon,” Martin muttered, glancing sideways at him. “Leave them alone. They’re just kids.”

Jon barely heard him. “What was so funny?” he asked once again, surprising himself with the darkness his tone suddenly took on.

“We made a joke about you in our group chat,” Dave said quickly, and clamped his hands over his mouth. “I didn’t mean to say that.”

Martin’s hand was suddenly very tight on Jon’s arm. “Wait here,” he said to the class, voice a forced type of kind. “I have to discuss something with your teacher.”

He pulled Jon aside, iron grip nearly painful. Once far enough away, he let go.

“Jon, seriously?”

“I didn’t mean to!”

“You know you can’t do that!”

“I really didn’t try to!”

“And yet—“ Martin took a forceful breath. He lowered his voice. “And yet you did.”

“You know I wouldn’t on purpose,” Jon said, gaze fixed firmly at his feet.

“Actually, I don’t. You said before that you nearly Elias’d that teen the other day.”

“But I didn’t!”

“Well, now you  _ did  _ compel your own student. You used a  _ fear god power  _ on a  _ kid. _ ”

“I know.” Jon sighed. “I didn’t mean to. It just came out.”

“I don’t care if you  _ meant  _ to. It happened either way. You’re a teacher. You’re around kids all day. You should be able to control this.”

“I usually can, that’s the thing!” Jon took a clumsy step back, running a quick hand through his hair. “I have  _ never  _ done that before. I don’t know why it happened now, maybe it’s because these avatars have been after me every day, but I’m…” Jon hesitated. How, exactly, did he feel right now? He struggled to find the right words. “I’m just a little on edge about everything.” 

He examined Martin’s expression. Martin was angry, yes, and also a little hurt. Jon’s stomach turned. He knew how he felt now: Bad. He felt bad for using his power on Dave, and he felt bad for making Martin mad. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t tell it to me.” Martin turned to where the class stood still. “Tell him.”

“I can’t without explaining what happened, though.”

Martin’s gaze was ice, and Jon felt a little part inside himself freeze. “Find a way.” He started back toward the students.

Jon followed. Once he arrived, he turned to face the group, who watched him silently with patient eyes. He rubbed the back of his neck with a hand. “Sorry for getting a little upset about that,” Jon said. “You guys are allowed to have fun, even if it’s at my expense. I won’t worry about what you laugh at anymore.”

“It’s okay, Mr. Sims,” said Dave. “And we weren’t making fun of you, I promise.”

Jon let out a small exhale. “Well, that’s good to hear. Let’s get on our way.”

  


\--

  


As the morning shifted into the afternoon, the class finished up their time in Cotswold, and after grabbing a quick bite to eat (and a quick statement for Jon), made their way to the second destination of the day: Oxford Covered Market. The bustling shop center was like a mini indoor town, with small businesses each occupying their own storefronts or selling wares from a stand. The market was home to fresh fruit, seafood, meals, flowers, desserts, and nearly anything else you could hope to find. Jon released his class into the lanes, advising them to stay in pairs or groups and adding a reminder to reconvene with him in a few hours. 

He stood by the entrance for some time, in case a student needed to find him for any reason. After a while, though, it got boring, and he waved over Martin (who had been checking out a nearby pastry shop), and asked him to stand in his place so he could have a look around.

Walking down the aisles, Jon took in all the sights, sounds, and scents of the place. It was fairly crowded, which he typically tried to avoid, so he wasn’t able to move through the market as quickly as he would have liked. He made his way around, though, keeping an eye out. For what, he wasn’t sure, but he knew he was watching for something. 

After turning a corner, Jon was met with an out-of-place looking fish shop. Exactly how it was out of place, he couldn’t put a finger on, but it seemed spatially awkward and strangely faded. Jon approached, curious, but quickly he wished he hadn’t. He was hit at once with the overwhelming aroma of rot and decay, so intense he felt himself gag. The raw fish strung along the back wall revealed themselves to be old and rotting, flies hanging around them so thick there were almost more bugs than air. There weren’t any attendants working, Jon noticed, and he was actually relieved at this. Had there been, Jon had the uneasy feeling that they would’ve been as decayed as their products.

Jon walked passed the stand, trying to leave the stench behind as if it weren’t already burned into his consciousness.  _ Who let a stand get this way?  _ Jon wondered, clinging on to the hope that this was just an  _ ordinary  _ gross fish stand.

“You’ve got to buy this!” A merchant hawked, and Jon involuntarily glanced over. The vendor waved a pair of shorts around, and an icy shock overtook Jon as he realized how soiled the clothing was. He turned his gaze away from the sight, and was met instead with a storefront boasting wilting, rotting flowers, and the one next to it advertising simply, “Worms!” There was no doubt about the situation anymore. Jon found himself not looking too hard at his fellow market-goers for fear they were Corrupted as well.

Quickly Jon’s thoughts shifted to an assessment of how to escape. The Market hadn’t always been like this, so if he could go back to where he’d come from, he might get out of the filth he found himself in presently. Jon gave himself a curt nod as he committed to this plan, and turned swiftly on his heel to do just that. 

Immediately behind him was another storefront. The owner grinned in his face, teeth rotting and falling out, flies building their homes inside each of his body cavities. “Can I help you?”

Jon made a sort of strangled-sounding noise, and turned back around. Either he’d gotten lost, or the Market had changed around him; either option was equally likely. He still had to find his way out, though, so he continued to walk, clutching his bag tightly as if letting go would cause his money to automatically trade itself in for the goods of the market, and a single glance away would turn his bag into a beehive.

Jon began to question the nature of the place he found himself in as he wandered the aisles. Was he the only one there, or had the market been transformed for everyone? He desperately hoped it was the first, for the sake of his students and everyone else at the Covered Market. Jon chose to imagine that everybody else was enjoying their time at a  _ normal  _ market, and he was walking alone among Corruption-generated manifestations. It worked a bit, and his mind was taken off the worry for his class and could focus more on trying to save himself.

Jon kept his head down, which didn’t help him find his way around much, but he couldn’t bear to take in the rot and decay and crawl that hung thick around him. Admittedly, the sight of the ground wasn’t much of an improvement; Jon felt the crunch of tiny exoskeletons and bug guts under his foot on each step. If it weren’t for the sweater he wore, he’d be watching his arms much more intently to make sure no worms tried to burrow in. He did  _ not  _ want to relive the experiences surrounding the Prentiss incident.

Vendors called out desperate pleas which felt uncomfortably personalized for Jon, begging for somebody, anybody to buy their wares. “It will make you happy,” they cried, they promised. Jon felt the urge to plug his ears along with his nose. This is how the Corruption  _ worked _ , they promised you could be happy, you could be loved, and they filled you with lies and worms. They catch you when their promises burrow their way deep inside, until you can do nothing but believe you  _ need  _ what they’re offering; then their words aren’t the only thing burrowing in you.

Jon knew this. He’d taken the statement from Prentiss, he’d had too personal an experience with her worms; but that didn’t mean the Corruption didn’t affect him still. As one vendor warbled some repetitive jingle about her merchandise, the phrase  _ earworm  _ dryly came to Jon. All it takes is one hook for a melody or idea to get stuck in your head. Luckily, the walls of Jon’s mind were tall, cold, and smooth. He continued down the lane, more eager now than before to find his way out.

Above the chorus of the busy market, Jon thought he could hear a voice he’d heard before. He glanced up, trying to ignore the gnats that were now swarming his head, and saw across the market the back of a familiar green sweater. So he  _ wasn’t  _ alone in this Corrupted version of the market!

Jon began to rush over; Martin was negotiating with a particularly beetle-ridden vendor for a slice of pie. He pushed through the crowd, shoving market-goers left and right, squeezing past people he tried to forget were thoroughly ridden with bugs, disease, mold, and everything else that made his skin crawl. Before he could get close enough, it seemed the two had agreed on a price, and Martin was taking the slice. He lifted it toward his mouth, about to take a bite.

“Don’t eat that!” Jon shouted, loud enough to get Martin to snap his head around.

“What?”

Jon arrived at the stand, trying desperately to speak while catching his breath. “You can’t… don’t eat that,” he managed. Jon got a closer look at the slice, which he’d assumed was blueberry. What he’d thought were berries were actually crawling over one another, tiny legs scuttling, causing the mass of dark grubs to ooze and pulsate. Jon instinctively swiped a hand, knocking the pie to the floor.

“Jon! What was that for?”

“Were you really about to eat that?” Jon looked up and down between the pie on the floor and Martin’s bewildered expression.

“Uh… yeah?” Martin narrowed his eyes. “Why? What’s wrong with it?”

“What’s  _ wrong _ ? Look around, Martin!” Jon tossed his arms out. Did Martin really not see how the marketplace had changed?

Martin warily glanced left and right, not seeming to notice anything off. “I don’t get it. Are you okay, Jon?”

“You don’t see… you don’t see the bugs? The rot?”

Martin inhaled sharply. He grimaced. “Please tell me you’re kidding. This isn’t funny.”

“I’m not.” Someone passing bumped into Jon, causing him to pull away further from the crowd, retracting his arms close to himself. “Thank God you’re not… like them.”

“Like who?”

“The people here, they’re all… gross. Corrupted. Like Prentiss.”

“Well, I can’t see them, then. They look normal to me. Are you sure you’re alright, Jon? Is this a hallucination? Are you hallucinating now?” Martin’s face shifted from cautious fear to a slightly more concerned fear.

“I’m not…” Jon looked around. The market was still Corrupted. It looked real enough. “I don’t think so?”

The pie-grubs on the floor were crawling away now, and Jon had to lift his feet to avoid them scrambling over his shoes. He pointed at the grubs. “You really don’t see that?”

Martin stared at the floor. “See what…?” he paused. Jon looked up; Martin’s face was slowly contorting into disgust. He gasped. His voice was tiny. “...I see it now.”

“Okay, great,” Jon said, measured. “Now we just have to figure out how to get out. I’ve already tried going the way I came, and that didn’t work, so we’ll have to try…” he trailed off when he noticed Martin staring off, breathing so shallow and fast Jon thought he was going to pass out. He rocked forward and back on his feet.

“Martin, calm down,” he said. He was already trying to deal with finding himself in this market hell, and he  _ really  _ didn’t want to deal with Martin freaking out on top of all that. “Breathe. It’s alright.”

“No it’s not!” Martin said, voice coming out a little louder than Jon expected, nearly laughing in incredulity. “In what world is this alright?”

_...What world? _ Jon’s mind turned over that particular phrase. Martin might actually be on to something. “This world… this world isn’t real, I don’t think. Not really. I mean, we’re in the real market, but we’re also in another… another plane, another layer? A different version of it, overlayed on reality.”

Martin sighed. “I don’t know what that means, Jon, can you just tell me how we get out?” He looked around the market again. “I don’t know if this is even real, or if it was and I wasn’t seeing it before, but I’m  _ hungry  _ and everywhere that’s selling anything is just  _ disgusting  _ now. And… and I’m almost ready to buy some regardless, even though I know it’s gross, and these vendors yelling about how I’m  _ starving  _ and  _ need  _ their products isn’t helping.”

Of course. The corruption tries to get you to internalize their rot by externalizing what you need to their products. They might be able to get out, if…. 

Jon looked directly at Martin. “You’re right. What you saw was real, and this isn’t-- well, it is, but not in the way everything else, everything normal is real-- and now I’ve brought you here. That’s not fair.”

“I’m... right?” Martin said quietly, glancing down. He almost smiled, but seemed to banish the grin as soon as it was there. “Well. Regardless of, uh, how we got here, we need to get out now, right?”

Jon nodded. “And I think you’ve given me an idea as to how.”

  


It was difficult to stay together as they made their way through the shoulder-to-shoulder crowd, which is the reason for Jon glancing over his shoulder what seemed like every five seconds to look at Martin, make sure he was still there. He always was, of course, but Jon didn’t take any breaks in his checking. It was a bit of a relief, if he was honest, to look at someone who  _ wasn’t  _ crawling with putrid worms or buzzing with flies. After what felt like hours of shuffling through the market, Jon finally saw it. One single, lone storefront with nothing to sell.

“I don’t get it.” Jon looked back at the voice; Martin was watching the empty store in confusion.

“It’s what you said. They want us to buy their goods. So, naturally, we go to a place with  _ no  _ goods. It’s against the idea of this place. This is how we get out.” Jon stepped over the counter, mulling over his own words.  _ This place  _ referred to the Corrupted market, though he supposed it could apply to a market in general. In many ways, this was just a heightened version of the original market, or more specifically, someone’s fears of a market. People screaming at you, pressuring you to buy something you don’t want; a thick crowd of dirty people. Jon wasn’t really scared of markets, though, so it was curious that he’d found himself in this specific manifestation. Was it meant for someone else?

That didn’t make any sense. He shook off the thought. Martin had now followed him into the back room of the mini store, and had copied Jon’s facing of the back wall.

“I don’t want to buy anything at this market,” Jon said, voice stern like he was trying to convince someone. “Say that,” he muttered, this time directed to Martin, “and believe it.”

“I don’t want to buy anything at this market,” Martin repeated, though he sounded like he was trying to convince himself instead. When Jon turned around, it seemed the statements were sufficient. The walls no longer sported stains of unidentifiable liquids; the previously persistent buzzing was no longer among the market’s cacophony.

Martin turned around. “It worked,” he sighed. He was right. They were back where they belonged.

  


\--

  


Jon had furiously checked everything the students had bought for lingering bugs or worms, but it all seemed to be clean, and the act had only elicited suspicion from the kids. The busy market day had earned the group some free time that evening, and ice cream bars were provided as the class was allowed to relax in their hotel rooms. Jon changed quickly into his pajamas, eager to be rid of the clothes that had waded through crowds of bugs that afternoon. Martin had done the same, and soon the two were relaxing on their respective beds, TV playing some sitcom in the background as they both scrolled through their phones.

“Crazy day,” Martin said, likely a quick aside that he hadn’t put thought into.

“Crazy week,” Jon replied. It was true. At some point, he had to address what was really going on: the Entities were after him. After four days in a row, there’s no way it could be a coincidence anymore. The only thing for him to do now was try his best and avoid them; and even that was wishful thinking. The realistic thing for him to do was try and lessen the extent to which the Entities manifested themselves, and keep those manifestations away from his students.

And from Martin. Though he did his best to hide it, Jon could tell he was shaken from the day. The way he examined every surface for mildew, pulled away from a single fruit fly in the hotel lobby… it didn’t help that he’d already had extensive experience with the Corruption’s worms. Jon thought back to the boat from the other day, where he’d insisted that he read a statement in front of Martin when he  _ knew  _ Martin was uncomfortable with that. Martin had said he hadn’t minded, but of course he’d said that. Jon cursed his past actions. Martin deserved to have a  _ nice  _ trip. Yes, he would keep the entities away from Martin and the students, and that included his own future encounters with them, which he knew were inevitable. Martin wouldn’t need to know tomorrow, or any day in the next couple of weeks, what experiences Jon would have of the supernatural sort. It would only worry him, and Jon didn’t want to do that.

Jon reached for the lamp. It was getting late. “Can I turn the light off?”

“Sure,” Martin replied, and that exchanged sufficed for a  _ goodnight  _ wish. Jon pulled the cord; the room fell into a calm darkness as Jon fell into a less calm sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://youtu.be/CeCIIpODnfw  
> Chapter was absolutely inspired by this titular song.
> 
> I FORGOT TO MENTION that this chapter was kinda difficult to write bc this week (the week I was writing it) my house has been infested with gnats!! Not the greatest timing for that.
> 
> IMPORTANT: Next week's update will be something a little different. You'll see.


	5. The Castle of aaarrrrggh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon finds himself touring a nice castle. Wait— that’s not supposed to be there!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> —-  
> Content warnings:  
> Unreality/derealization  
> —-
> 
> I’m back! From now on, THIS fic will update every other week, with the accompanying groupchat chapter the weeks in between.

The loaded bus, packed with sleepy-eyed students, pulled into its parking spot. They had departed early in the morning from Oxford on their way to Manchester; what would’ve been around a 3-hour drive straight through was going to be a bit longer with the stops Jon had planned along the way. Their first stop was the one Jon was most excited for; it was the first castle of the trip. As the charter bus came to a stop, Jon picked up the mic to the bus’s PA system and made an announcement.

“Here we are: Warwick castle. I’ll give you all a little preemptive history on it. The first precursor to this castle was ordered to be built in 914 AD by the leader of the Saxon army: the eldest daughter of King Alfred, the warrior princess Ethelfleda. I’m sure you’ll find out much more on the tour.”

While Jon could gain a great deal of knowledge through eldritch means, and has been known to do so from time to time, this he'd actually learned before when researching for a certain album regarding a sci-fi-western retelling of Arthurian legend. The tidbit had stuck with him, and he was glad to find a relevant time to relay it. A few students let out quiet cheers or calls along the lines of “Queen!” Jon didn’t bother to remind them she was actually a princess and general.

Jon continued. “We will have to split into two tour groups. I’ll accompany group A, while Mr. Blackwood will be with group B. Listen for your names.” He read the list of each group, sorted alphabetically. Once he was done, he instructed the students to exit the bus and congregate into their group.

Group A was the first to depart, led by a weathered old tour guide whose name tag read “Phil.” The group walked just outside the castle first to get an impression of the place, before heading inside. Jon pulled up the map on his phone to follow along with the tour.

After a short trip through the castle’s central courtyard, Phil led the group to the castle’s inside area. Walking across the tiled floor of the great hall, the group took in the place’s grandeur: chandeliers descended from the ceiling, weapons formed crowns on the walls, and shiny suits of armor stood guard along the perimeter. Phil led them into a hallway down the right end of the room, one which Jon saw on his map would lead them by the chapel and cedar room.

Soon after entering the hallway, though, Phil’s radio received a call. The contents of the message was an indecipherable stream of numbers and codes, but Phil seemed concerned by it. “I have to leave you all for a few seconds,” he muttered to the group, “feel free to amble around the hallway until I return.” With that, their tour guide was gone.

The students glanced at Jon, eyes asking silently for permission to wander like Phil had suggested. Jon nodded. “Go ahead.”

A few minutes later, still with no sign of Phil, one student approached Jon. “Did you see the sign for the dungeon?” She pointed an arm down the hall, to a yellow wooden sign labeled rather crudely with the word “Dungeons!” and an arrow. Jon hadn’t noticed the sign before, but if his memory served him right… he checked the map on his phone. Sure enough, there was no way to access the dungeons from where the sign was pointing; it was on a solid wall with different rooms behind it. Jon’s stomach dropped like a broken elevator.

“I think we should stay in this hall,” he replied, trying to keep calm. Maybe if he ignored it, it would go away? The method hadn’t worked for his problems yet, but he had to try.

“Well…” the girl sucked in a breath through her teeth. “I think we have a problem, then. Sam and Dave and Rajat already went in.”

Jon had a choice. Either leave his students alone, no tour guide or teacher, to go after the three, or bring them along into what was probably not the actual, proper castle dungeons. He couldn’t leave kids just by themselves in a castle, but some group would be alone either way, he supposed. One place was significantly more dangerous than the other. Jon sighed. Time to leave the ninety-nine for the one.

“I’m going to find out what happened to our guide,” Jon said. “Stay here. Don’t wander off. I’ll be back soon.” It was close enough to the truth. He headed off down the hall where the sign pointed. The hall that, by all accounts, should not have been there.

The floor began to slant as Jon walked further along, lighting getting dimmer and wall designs making less and less sense. He had taken so many turns that he should’ve been back at the main hall by now, or at least under it. But Jon had given up trying to make sense of the place. You never could when it came to the Spiral.

Finally, the now very narrow hall opened up into a larger room. Escher-esque stairways and doors adorned the walls, which stretched up far higher than should've been possible if Jon was under the castle like he thought he should be. The atrium-- it appeared to be an atrium, though was anything how it appeared?-- was clearly lit, though there were no lights to be seen anywhere. Jon was utterly alone.

The three students had to be here somewhere, so Jon had to press on. He proceeded to the most accessible hallway, trying not to think too hard about how it’s possible there was a turn immediately that seemed to intersect with the hall he’d just come from. He was tempted to listen for anything to clue him into which direction his students were in, but decided it was more likely to be a trap than not if he did hear anything. 

To keep his mind off the nonsensical floor plan, Jon turned his thoughts to the rest of his group. He hoped the students he’d left were doing alright. He hoped Group B, with Martin, was in a  _ normal  _ castle.Maybe the groups would meet up and join together? That would be fortunate.

The walls were starting to shift around Jon, stairways and doors appearing at the turn of a head and disappearing in the blink of an eye. Glancing at the map was, unsurprisingly, little help. At this point, the digital map was shifting as much as Jon’s physical surroundings.

It got to a point where Jon couldn’t even tell that he was supposed to be in a castle anymore. He fought his hardest to not acknowledge the logical fallacies of reality, but they were beginning to get to him. Despite knowing that it wasn’t  _ supposed  _ to make sense, Jon was starting to develop a manic migraine. 

“This would’ve been advantageous to have back when this castle was operating,” Jon muttered to himself, trying to keep sane. You could lose attackers in this place easily. Though, the thought that some Medieval army was still preserved, running around in these halls since the 14th century didn’t do much to ease Jon’s mind.

Jon wandered for what felt like hours. His legs grew sore, his breathing ragged, but he kept hope that he would encounter his students. Actively looking for them would do just as much good as staggering aimlessly through the corridors, and one of those two required significantly less mental and physical energy. He kept an eye (and an Eye) open for any sign of the lost students, but there was no sign of them to be found.

The hallway, now tilted at a 45 degree angle, spat Jon out into a room that looked a bit like a scaled-up version of the first atrium he’d come to. The windows (looking where?) seemed to grow and shrink, concentric rectangles contracting into each other hypnotically. Staircases stretched continuously, reminiscent of a Dolly Zoom. At this point, Jon half-expected a glass labeled “Drink Me!” to appear, or a rabbit to tell him he was late. He tried to keep his eyes forward and press ahead. Sooner or later, he had to get out. Right?

The next hallway seemed almost normal, until Jon looked up and realized he was walking sideways up the wall.

Jon came across a trapdoor on some ceiling. It was labeled “Chicken Exit.” Behind it was a literal chicken coop. At least the Spiral had a sense of humor.

Eventually, Jon found a subtle doorway. It looked solid, somehow-- more real than the rest of whatever this was. Like it wasn’t supposed to be included in this spiraling unreality. Like it was actually  _ there.  _ And the better part: this one was normally shaped.

Jon stepped through it, and his feet did a loop, as if gravity had become perpendicular to how it had been once he stepped through the threshold. He landed more or less upright at the end of the hallway he’d been in before. The  _ real  _ hallway he’d been before, where his students waited patiently for him. Jon scanned the group, counting their heads. There were ten. There were all ten! Somehow, Sam, Dave, and Rajat had made it back to the rest of the group. The tension in Jon’s chest left him so rapidly he felt himself get a few centimeters shorter.

After Phil had returned to finish the tour, the class reunited and loaded the bus to get back on the road. After his experience, Jon wanted nothing more than a nice, relaxing day of travel, and maybe a good nap once they arrived in Manchester. However, they had more stops scheduled for the trip. Not much later, the bus pulled into a lot in Birmingham.

The class first went to a little coffee house for lunch, where Jon found time to excuse himself for a statement. Then they headed to the main reason for the stop in Birmingham— the museum.

The trip to the museum was more relaxed. Students were allowed to explore in small groups at their own pace. Jon planned on waiting at a bench by the door until it was time to leave again.

Martin had other ideas, it seemed. 

“Are you really just going to sit on this bench the entire time?”

Jon shrugged. “Yes, I suppose so.”

“Why—“ Martin sighed. “You should explore. I know you’re the type of person to love museums and stuff, are you not?”

Jon didn’t answer. 

Martin continued. “Come on. We are going to look around.” He started to walk away, his aspiring authoritative tone shattered by the expectant look back after only a few steps. Jon pushed himself up. Martin had such little faith in him.

“How was your castle tour?” Martin asked as the two headed across the museum.

“It was good,” Jon said. It wasn’t quite a lie; the actual tour was fine. 

Martin seemed to believe him. “Mine went well, too. Students were well behaved.” He turned his head to look fully at Jon. “You’ve done a great job teaching them. They really like you.”

“They do?” Students were  _ fond  _ of him? It was a strange experience, hearing that someone actually  _ likes  _ you as a person, especially when all you’ve heard or assumed up until then was that they found you mildly annoying at best. 

Martin must’ve heard the disbelief in Jon’s voice. “Of course they do! You need to give yourself more credit, Jon.” They took a turn to another exhibit. “Contrary to what you may think,  _ some  _ people actually like you. Shocker, huh?” He chuckled, which quickly turned into a small cough.

Jon didn't know what to say. He just went “hm,” and kept on walking.

The remainder of the day was spent getting to Manchester, with a few stops here and there. Jon decided to take himself up on that offer of a nice nap once he got to the hotel. When he woke up from it, he found he’d been asleep longer than he’d intended. It was the middle of the night, and Martin was fast asleep the next bed over. Jon’s coat was sitting on the end of the bed— he didn’t remember taking it off before falling asleep— and a blanket was draped over him. Jon just closed his eyes and went back to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you know what the chapter title is a reference to you get 10 points :)


End file.
